Secrets
by GeekLoveFan
Summary: "Whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide the fact that he possesses one." –Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Before I start this, I have only one thing to say: Please forgive me.**

**What is coming is the Biggest. Cliché. Ever. I hate myself a little for this, but A) my Muse won't leave me alone on this one, and B) I have a huge desire to see this particular cliché done in a less-crappy way than all its predecessors (not that I'm bragging on my own writing; it's just that the other stories I've read along these lines were so hideously written that there's frankly, nowhere to go but up).**

**Please note that this is A/U, so it will start out aligned with canon and quickly branch away into a new direction.**

**The French spoken herein is extremely basic, but I have included translations at the end of the chapter nonetheless. And if any of it is wrong, sue me. It's been twelve years since I've been in a French classroom.**

"**Whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide the fact that he possesses one." –Johann Wolfgang von Goethe**

Jennifer Shepard sat in the dark, clutching her coffee mug with a sweaty hand. Outwardly, she was the picture of poise and calm, but inwardly, her heart was racing and she could barely breathe. _'This is such a mistake,'_ she thought for the thousandth time. It already seemed like a lifetime since she had been offered the Director's job, but it had only been a month—a month filled with more activity, emotion, and inner turmoil than she had experienced in, well…the past six years. She cringed every time she thought about it, but she had to admit that it was the truth—this felt like making the decision to leave Jethro all over again. Only this time, she wasn't leaving—she was coming back. And he didn't know it.

And it was infinitely more complicated this time.

"He's your problem now, Director."

That was her cue. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and stood, pasting a smirk onto her face as she turned to face her former lover.

"Hello, Jethro," she murmured throatily.

OoOoO

The reunion in MTAC had been somewhat less awkward than she might have expected; except for the brief flash of pain in his eyes—a flash that would have gone unnoticed by anyone who knew him less intimately than did she—he had reacted stoically. It helped that the agency was knee-deep in a search for an agent-murdering terrorist, and his concentration was likely focused on that, but she wanted to address the elephant in the room as soon as possible, and get it out of the way.

She followed him out of MTAC onto the catwalk, and murmured a quiet "Jethro," to his back. He turned slowly, his expression something between a smirk and a look of wariness. He didn't speak.

"Jethro," she said quietly, "you have a job to do right now—a job that takes precedence over anything else for the time being. But, when this is over," she paused, "I would really appreciate it if you would come to my house for dinner. " He raised an eyebrow at her. "There's some unfinished business we need to discuss," she added.

"You always were one for understatement, Jen," he said wryly, as he turned to go.

'_You have no idea,'_ she thought to herself. Aloud, she said to his retreating back, "Is that a yes, Jethro?"

He tossed up a hand dismissively. "Yeah sure," he muttered as he walked away.

Jen looked up at the ceiling and blew out a sigh. He had to be told; that much she knew. What she _didn't_ know was how to accomplish it without someone—namely her—ending up dead in the aftermath.

OoOoO

Three days later, it was done. Ari was dead, Kate's funeral was over, and Gibbs had his closure. Jenny's nerves were a wreck, waiting for the opportunity to say her piece to him and let the chips fall where they may. She was beginning to think that the waiting and tortured anticipation of his reaction were as bad as any possible reaction he could actually have—but then again, she wasn't that ignorant.

"Jethro," she spoke from the catwalk above, as he gathered up his things, "I need to see you, please." She raised an eyebrow, a silent invitation, and he raised his own eyebrow in response as he headed for the stairs.

Ascending to the catwalk, he walked to her, curiosity in his eyes.

"My house, 8 o'clock, please," was all she managed from her suddenly dry throat.

He said nothing, only inclining his head in response as he turned on his heel to head back downstairs.

OoOoO

Gibbs sighed as he rang the doorbell of Jenny's brownstone. Much as he was curious as to what she would have to say for herself, he didn't relish the idea of re-opening wounds that had long since, if not healed, at least closed. However, if they were going to have to work together, he supposed it was best to clear the air.

The door swung open then, and Jenny stood before him, greeting him with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Good evening, Jethro. Come in." She stepped aside, allowing him entry, and he looked around curiously. The house was stately, elegant. "Follow me," she murmured, walking away from him. "I've got some bourbon in the kitchen." To herself, she thought, _'Not sure who's gonna need it more by the end of the evening...'_

Jethro, for his part, hated beating around the bush, and so decided to cut right to the chase. He reached into his pocket and fished out a worn piece of paper as he followed her into her kitchen. He situated himself at one end of the large island there and waited. She reached for the bourbon, turned back to face him, and was taken aback to see the piece of paper that he had placed on the island in front of her.

"I guess you asked me here to explain this, Jen?" he said, the barest hint of a sneer in his voice.

Her face had drained of color, and her hands were visibly shaking as she held the tumbler of bourbon. She stared at the Dear John letter she had so cowardly left him, her lips trembling. Her lips parted, as if she was about to speak, but she made no sound. He wasn't entirely sure she was breathing.

He was just about to have mercy on her and put the letter away when he was startled by a high-pitched shriek coming from deeper in the house, followed by a loud thump and a series of giggles.

Jethro wrinkled his brow and narrowed his eyes at his hostess. "Got a guest, Jen?" he queried. Jenny managed a tight smile in response, but said nothing. Then, her head whipped sharply to the side as the source of the noise streaked into the kitchen and skidded to a halt at the sight of the strange man sitting at the counter.

Jen sighed in frustration and dropped her head into an elegant hand. "My housekeeper, Noemi, is supposed to be watching her," she said—explaining nothing—as Jethro looked from the little girl, to Jen, back to the little girl.

She was a lovely child, without a doubt. Her hair was too red to be called auburn and too brown to be called red. Her eyes were blue, framed with thick, dark lashes, and her tiny nose had a handful of freckles scattered across the bridge. The girl stared back at him, cocked her head, and narrowed her eyes curiously. _"Parlez-vous fran__ç__ais…ou anglais?"_ she queried.

Gibbs barely registered her question in his confusion. _"Tous les deux,"_ he replied without thinking, as he tried to get his bearings.

Jen, wide-eyed, finally recovered just as Noemi entered the kitchen, murmuring apologies. "Savie," she snapped as Noemi reached for the child's hand, _"allez avec Noemi…maintenant!"_

The girl pouted as Noemi gently guided her away. _"Mais je veux parler __à__ lui,"_ she whined to Jenny as she reluctantly followed Noemi.

"_Non!"_ Jenny snapped, and the child looked stricken. Jenny's voice softened then, and she said, _"Bient__ô__t,"_ more gently, though stress was evident on her face.

'_Soon?'_ thought Jethro in confusion. _'Why would this kid be talking to _me _soon?'_

He didn't like where his gut was going with this, and sure enough, just as the little girl Jen had called Savie rounded the corner to exit the kitchen, Gibbs got a glimpse of something in the shape of her nose that was unmistakable.

He swiveled his head back toward Jenny.

"I assume you're not merely baby-sitting," Jethro said dully.

"No," Jen said with a shake of her head.

Jethro looked back to the doorway through which Noemi and the little girl had vanished.

"Yours, then?" A nod. "How old?"

He barely heard her reply. "Five," she whispered, her face still white.

"Damn, Jen, you didn't waste any time moving on, did you?" he said, a little more bitterness than he would have liked creeping its way into his voice.

Jen shook her head, her heart pounding. She felt like she might pass out. She swallowed hard and then sucked in a ragged breath. The time was now. She had taken the cowardly way out once, and had wallowed in regret since. Never again, she had vowed.

She forced herself to look him in the eyes as she said, "Jethro…the last man I slept with was you."

**Translations:**

"Do you speak French…or English?"

"Both."

"Savie, go with Noemi…now!"

"But I want to talk to him."

"No! ...Soon."


	2. Chapter 2

"**Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." –Paul Tournier**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs stared at his former lover, his face a complete blank. She squirmed under his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

His inscrutable gaze continued for what seemed like eternity. Finally, though his gut knew better, he opened his mouth, and in a voice shaking with barely restrained rage, ground out, "The next words out of your mouth better damn well include 'adoption' or 'artificial insemination,' Jen."

She resisted the urge to cower. His voice held hints of danger. She held his gaze, but was unable to reply. She swallowed hard, and he read her eyes.

"Goddammit, Jen," he hissed.

He had never in his life had the barest flicker of a desire to strike a woman, but he suddenly found himself fighting the urge to knock Jenny to the ground. He flexed his hands into tight fists and fought to control the trembling that was spreading through his body.

"God_dammit, _Jen," he repeated, more forcefully this time. His voice was dangerous and Jenny suddenly found herself experiencing an emotion she had never before felt toward him.

Fear.

She knew how deadly he could be—had seen it firsthand. But toward her, he had only ever been protective, once even taking a bullet that was meant for her.

But now, she found herself shrinking back, afraid of the murderous rage she now saw in his eyes, a rage that, for the first time ever, was directed at her.

She began rambling before she could stop herself.

"After…I left…" she began, "I was so ashamed of what a coward I'd been. I found out two weeks later. I started to call you a thousand times, but I just couldn't face you after walking away like that. And the next thing I heard, you were married to Stephanie, and I didn't want to mess up an opportunity for you to be happy again…" She swallowed at the look he gave her. "…and besides, Jethro," she said desperately, "you just seemed far too focused to let something like fatherhood get in the way of your career."

With that, the urge to hit her into next week came roaring back, and he furiously dug for his wallet, yanking it roughly from his pocket. Opening it, he removed a small, worn photograph and slapped it violently down on the kitchen island. Jen looked down as Jethro removed his palm from the photograph, revealing a much younger Jethro, smiling with his arms around a young red-headed woman and a cute little girl.

"Fatherhood…_get in the way_, Jen?" he sneered, that low, dangerous voice back once more. "Allow me to introduce you to them," he said, pointing a calloused finger at the picture before him. Jenny suddenly felt very, very afraid of what was coming.

"This," he said, jabbing a finger toward the woman in the picture, "is Shannon. And this," gesturing toward the child, "is Kelly. I'd introduce you to them in person, but that would involve a trip to Arlington and a very large backhoe," he said cruelly. "This was my _wife_ and my _child_, and they were murdered in 1991 when I was Kuwait, Jen," he said, his voice trembling with fury and distress. "So don't you even _pretend_ to have a fucking idea what fatherhood means to me." Jethro's eyes were filling with reflexive tears of rage and anguish, and the urge for violence was now overwhelming; rather than hit Jenny, he turned and swung a fist into the nearest object, which unfortunately for him turned out to be the side of Jenny's stainless steel refrigerator. The contents rattled wildly inside, and Gibbs cursed as he felt fingers break from the force of his blow. He whirled back to face Jenny, who was staring in horror at the picture still sitting on the island. Her thin hands covered her mouth and her face was ashen.

She gagged once, and whirled toward the sink, but managed to regain control over her stomach and instead emitted a small sob of anguish. "Jethro," she choked out—

"Leave it, Jen," he growled, and, hand throbbing, stormed out of the kitchen back toward the foyer. He threw open her front door and thundered through it, only to come to a dead stop on the front steps. He paused, hand on the railing, and closed his eyes. He was more livid than he had ever been in his life, but could he really walk away, knowing that his _daughter_ was ensconced in that house?

A few moments passed; he stood there, indecisive. Finally, he let out a sound that was half grunt of frustration, half sigh of resignation, and turned on his heel, marching back up the steps and through the front door, coming to a stop only when he practically stumbled upon Jenny, slumped on the bottom step, crying silently, her delicate hands over her mouth.

He had no pity for her.

"And just who the hell is listed on her birth certificate, Jen?" he hissed, as if he'd never walked out the door.

Her shoulders shook for another moment before she whispered, barely audibly, "I left the line for 'father' blank, Jethro."

He nodded bitterly, processing that for a moment, before continuing. "And what does she know about her _father_?" he spat bitterly.

Jenny shook her head against the question, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that were now flowing harder. She was having trouble breathing against the sobs.

"All I've ever told her is that her daddy didn't know about her, and if he did, that he would love her more than anything," she gasped quietly. "Please, Jethro—"

"Shut up, Jen," he growled, furious as ever. "Just shut up." He took a deep breath. "I am going to go talk to my daughter now."

Jenny sucked in a deep breath and swiped her hands across her eyes, attempting to compose herself. She nodded and then surprised him by slipping back into French.

"_Elle francais est meilleur qu'elle anglais_."

_Her French is better than her English._ Switching gears again, she said, "Speak English to her. She needs the practice."

Gibbs shot her a glare. "I'll speak whatever language I damn well please with her, Jen."

He turned on his heel and walked away, coming to a stop after three steps. He did not turn. "What did you call her earlier? Savvy?" The name made no sense to him. He liked classic, traditional names.

"Savie," she repeated. "S-A-V-I-E." She swallowed. He wouldn't like this part. "It's short for _Savoir._"

Jethro remained standing with his back to her, but she did not miss it when he clenched his uninjured fist at his side. "_Savoir_, Jen?" He practically growled the words. "The French verb meaning _to know_?"

Jenny closed her eyes and clenched her teeth together, bracing herself. "Yes. Savoir." She sucked in a breath as she tucked a wayward strand of red hair behind her ear. "But I have always called her Savie."

There was a pause.

"And how did you come up with this…_name_?" he asked, a hint of a sneer in his voice.

Jen swallowed, attempting to gather her thoughts and courage. She had thought about how she would explain when he inevitably asked about their daughter's name, but now, in the moment of truth, her mind was a blank. "When…I found out I was pregnant…" she hesitated, swallowing again, "I was terrified. And confused. I didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to tell you—_if_ to tell you…Didn't know if you wanted any part of fatherhood." She wiped a shaking hand over her face, trying to gain control of the fear and anxiety coursing through her. "I was already consumed with regret over what I'd done, and I knew there was no way you'd ever take me back." Gibbs, with his back to her, raised an eyebrow at this. "But in spite of all the things I did _not_ know, there was one thing I _did _know…that this baby was a gift, and it was a part of you that would always be with me—and yes, I know how selfish that was," she added quickly, in response to his stiffening frame. "I had left France, but I wanted her name to represent our time together there. I couldn't come up with a French name that I liked that had an appropriate meaning…so when the time came…" at this, she shrugged, "I just chose a name that literally meant, '_to know_'".

Gibbs ground his teeth together as he stared irately at the wall ahead. "Well, Jen, I hope that made you feel good," he growled, and stalked down the hallway toward the back of the house, leaving Jenny Shepard sobbing in his wake.

OoOoO

As Jethro walked past the kitchen, down the hallway into which Savie and Noemi had disappeared after leaving the kitchen, he realized his heart was pounding. He had a daughter. A living, breathing daughter. And he was about to lay eyes on her…perhaps not for the first time, but for the first time since learning that she was his.

True, he was absolutely livid—in actuality, he had never felt anger so intense in his life. The hatred that he had felt toward Pedro Hernandez was not a fair comparison; Pedro Hernandez was nothing to him. Jethro had never known him personally. What Jenny had done was so much worse—in a way. She had claimed to love him—_he_ had loved _her_, certainly—and had borne his child without so much as a word. He had lost five precious, unrecoverable years because of the choice she had made. Yes, his fury was very nearly all-consuming.

But.

He had a daughter.

Under the fury, a feeling suspiciously like joy was blooming in his chest, and he breathed more quickly as he approached the quiet sounds of a young girl at play. He came to a doorway that led into a comfortable family room, and he stopped by the door jamb, choosing to watch his daughter unobserved for a moment. Noemi sat on a couch, quietly reading a book, while Savie played with dolls on the floor. She was in the midst of a tea party, and Jethro tried to quell the flash of pain that seared through him as he remembered being a part of innumerable tea parties with Kelly.

He studied his daughter's profile as she bent her head, talking quietly to her dolls. Yes. There was no mistaking the fact that she was Jenny's daughter. She turned her head slightly to the side, and Jethro got a better glimpse of her face. She was breathtaking. Jethro had never thought he would find a child that was more beautiful to him than Kelly had been, but he had to admit that this little one came close. He shook his head in wonder and she glanced up to see him standing there. A slow smile spread across her face upon seeing that her mother's mystery guest had materialized in front of her once again, and her blue eyes lit up. He couldn't fathom how he had missed it before—her eyes were a carbon-copy of his own.

He sucked in a quick breath to quell the sudden prick of tears against his eyes and gave her a small smile. Damn Jenny to hell. Despite her earlier words (or perhaps in _spite_ of her words), if Savie was more comfortable with French, he'd speak French to her.

"Bonjour," he said quietly.

"Bonjour," she replied, still smiling.

Noemi looked up from her book with a raised eyebrow, and Gibbs caught her eye and moved his head in a subtle gesture that asked her to give them a little privacy. Noemi nodded, rose from the couch, and moved soundlessly from the room. Savie glanced at her caretaker and then back to Jethro.

Jethro moved quietly into the room and settled himself, knees protesting, onto the floor across from his daughter. He swallowed and tried to get his brain in gear. He was fluent, or had been in the past, at least, but his French was rusty. He wasn't sure how much effort it would take to be proficiently conversational at this point. Giving it his best shot, he cleared his throat and asked if he could join the tea party.

She grinned and gave him a small, "oui," so he guessed his question had been posed properly. He moved a doll gently to the side, picked up a tiny porcelain tea cup, and pretended to slurp noisily. He received the same reaction from Savie that he always had from Kelly—a hearty giggle.

"What is your name?" she asked him in French, and though his heart skipped a beat at her question, he set his teacup down smoothly and kept his face composed.

"Jethro," he said quietly.

"Hello," she said politely. "My name is Savie. Are you Mommy's friend? She said a friend was coming over tonight," Savie inquired, her blue eyes serious.

While 'friend' was not the term that Jethro would have chosen, he was not going to let his animosity show. "Yes," he answered simply. He changed the subject. "How do you like living in America?" he asked. "Are you in kindergarten?"

Savie shrugged. "I don't know yet. It's very different. I miss my friends." Her face brightened then. "But I start kindergarten in the fall and I'm sure I will meet many new friends."

Jethro was taken aback. She was very eloquent for a five-year-old. He wondered if her eloquence transcended languages. He switched to English. "I'm sure you will. Kindergarten is a great place to meet friends."

Savie's face flickered for only an instant as he switched from French to English, and she nodded and smoothly switched right along with him. "Yes," she said in English. "I am looking forward to it."

Jethro smiled at the Ziva-like lack of contractions in her sentence. He wondered if that was just a one-time thing or if she had difficulty with contractions in English.

"Do you want to see my room?" she asked suddenly, a bright smile upon her face.

Jethro had no idea how Jenny would feel about that. He also didn't care. He smiled back at her, mesmerized by the blue eyes that were a mirror image of his own. "Sure," he said. She leapt to her feet and he followed, knees protesting once more, and she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the doorway. He obediently followed Savie back down the long hallway toward the front of the house, wondering if they'd have to step over Jen on the stairs. But as they passed the kitchen, he glanced in and saw her seated at the island, eyes dull, hands wrapped firmly around a tumbler of bourbon, staring lifelessly at the photograph still sitting on the tiled counter. She did not look at them as they passed, and Jethro turned his attention back toward the small child now leading him into the foyer and up the stairs.

Savie turned left at the top of the stairs and as Jethro followed, he tossed a glance back over his shoulder at the room that lay in the opposite direction—a neatly-made queen size bed, lit by a lamp, took center stage, and Jethro guessed that was Jenny's room. He turned his attention back to Savie just as she reached a door that was adorned with a miniature Eiffel Tower hanging from a pink and white polka-dotted ribbon. Pushing the door open, Savie revealed a sage green, Paris-themed bedroom. Jethro restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Jen had never made a secret of the fact that Paris was her favorite city. It had impressed him all the more at the time that she had been so single-mindedly focused on their mission there, knowing her intense love of all things Parisian—from the people and language to the food and landmarks.

The Paris-themed room infuriated him all the more, for reasons he couldn't fully explain. After all, would it really have made it any better, had her bedroom been done up in My Little Pony or whatever it is that five-year-old girls were into these days? He thought not, yet still, the sight of a child's bedroom devoted to a time in his life that he now associated with intense pain made his blood boil, even as he pasted on a smile and followed the now-chattering little girl into her bedroom. She had slipped back into French, and he found his concentration divided as he focused on what she was saying even as his practiced eyes scanned the walls of the room. He was immediately drawn to one particular black and white photo, blown up, matted, and framed on the wall. Something about it was vaguely familiar, though he was sure he had never seen the photograph before. He moved toward it and his eyes narrowed as his suspicions grew stronger. Another moment of scrutiny, and his teeth clenched together, fury rising fresh within him. The photograph in question, lined up among others on the wall, was of the Eiffel Tower. In the foreground was a man, his back to the camera, looking up at the Tower, his head tilted to the side, as if analyzing it. It had only taken a moment to realize that the man in the photograph was _him_. He had not known Jenny had taken it, but it was clearly him. How sly of her to place a picture of him in his own unknown daughter's bedroom.

Jethro took a deep breath, swallowed the anger rising within him, and turned his full attention back to Savie, who had bent to open a drawer and was now pulling out Barbie after Barbie, full grin on her little face. Despite his ire, Jethro couldn't help but return her smile, and he pushed the anger aside as he knelt beside her to examine her collection.

OoOoO

Half an hour later, Noemi had come to fetch Savie for her bath, and Jethro had reluctantly taken his leave of the young girl, with the promise that he would see her again soon. He had been pleased to note the beam upon her small face at his words, and he had pledged to himself in that moment that, Jenny be damned, he would do everything in his power to make up for lost time.

He found himself now trudging heavily down the stairs, mentally worn-down, his emotions vacillating wildly between disbelief, joy, wonder, and unadulterated fury. He wasn't sure that he'd ever been this emotionally overwhelmed before, even when Shannon and Kelly had been taken from him. At least then, he had been clear on what he should feel—fury and heartbreak. Now, however, he felt as though there were a hundred different emotions tussling within him, and he had no idea to which he should give precedence.

Breathing deeply as he descended the last step, he turned and headed once more toward the kitchen. Finding Jenny there, in much the same position as he had last seen her, he made a conscious effort to reign in his anger as he addressed his former lover.

"Tell her, Jen," he said ominously, with no preamble. "Tell her _now_." Jen looked up at him, her eyes wide and serious, and Jethro stared her down. "I'm not kidding. The next time I see her, she knows who I am. This is on _you._" He left the rest of his threat unsaid, hanging in the air between them, and Jenny swallowed hard in response. She nodded slowly, her throat too dry to speak, despite the bourbon in her hands.

Jethro bored his eyes into hers for a moment longer and then turned to go. He stopped in the doorway, his back to her once again, and said in a low voice, full of finality, "I will never be able to forgive you for what you've done, Jen. But I swear to you and to God that our daughter is not going to suffer because of your bullshit cowardice." He turned slowly toward her and locked his eyes on hers once more. "You _tell her who her father is, _Jen," he growled solemnly. He held her gaze for a moment, then turned and left once more.

Jennifer Shepard sat in her kitchen, staring at a photograph of the man who had once been her lover with the wife and child she had never known about, and wondered how in the world this scenario could have possibly ended up playing out in a way that was a hundred times worse than anything she could have possibly imagined.

**A/N: Yes, I am alive. You just don't even want to know. I apologize for the delay, and I have decided that in the future, I am going to have my entire story written before I post anything. *sigh***


End file.
